


Crowley's Door

by AnonymousDandelion



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crack, Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Footnotes, Gen, POV Outsider, animism (sort of), door - Freeform, double-glazed fiberglass, lots and lots of footnotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousDandelion/pseuds/AnonymousDandelion
Summary: Being the front door to a flat in Mayfair, London is not a job for the weak, the foolish, nor the easily astonished. Fortunately, the front door of the second-floor flat belonging to one Mr. Anthony J. Crowley is none of the above.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Breaking And Entering Can Be Angelic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25033747) by [fractalgeometry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry). 



> Yes, my first foray into fanfic in many a year, and I wrote a 6000-word story (a few thousand words of which are footnotes) about a door. Any questions?
> 
> Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had doors been capable of experiencing boredom, one might have said that this particular door was dead bored. But when Crowley arrives, everything changes.

Being the front door to a flat in Mayfair, London was not a job for the weak, the foolish, nor the easily astonished. Fortunately, the front door of the second-floor flat newly belonging to one Mr. Anthony J. Crowley was none of the above.

This flat — sleek, spacious, stylish — had housed many occupants over the years, and the door had been there since the beginning.[1] [2] It had seen it all. Moments of extreme intimacy, moments of extreme illegality, moments of extreme idiocy, and (most often) all of the above at once, with the rare spurt of extreme intelligence thrown into the mix. The kinds of people who tended to rent stylish Mayfair flats were frequently the kinds of people whom some lesser beings might have considered interesting, surprising, or (in certain cases) even downright peculiar.

The door, however, was no lesser being, and it was _certainly_ neither surprised by nor very interested in its tenants. Oh, it executed its doorish duty well and with pride, make no mistake about that. It guarded the flat with all due diligence and vigilance. It opened and closed when so instructed by a keyholder.[3] When called upon to do so, it staved off an over-ambitious burglar or three.[4]

But, beyond the basic demands of its duty, the door had no particular desire to pay attention to any of the numerous residents who came and went as time went by. It wasn’t that it had anything _against_ the tenants, per se[5]; it just had nothing especially _in_ _favor_ of them either. Say simply, in the event that a tenant accidentally left their key inside the flat[6] when they left to go to work, on a date, or to some other affair best left unspecified, the door felt no inspiration for said tenant to discover upon their return that they had conveniently forgotten to lock their door that morning.

The door did its duty because it would have been a disgrace to do otherwise. There was simply no _passion_ involved, that was all.

Had doors been capable of experiencing boredom, one might have said that this particular door was dead bored.

~ ~ ~

The Mayfair flat door was strong, smart, and practically impossible to interest, let alone surprise. Still, when its newest tenant arrived, it might have felt just a flicker of… something.

It wasn’t the hair, or the cheekbones, or the black, or the shoes, or even the remarkable eyes.[7] No, none of that was unique enough to catch the door’s attention.[8] It was… something else. Not the body, definitely not the body. Perhaps it was the fact that, in contrast to the rather morbidly physical residents to which the door was accustomed, for this new arrival the body felt to be almost an… afterthought? Whatever it was (and the door was not at all sure), perhaps it did arouse a flicker of something.

Perhaps the _something_ was attraction, or curiosity. In any case, it certainly wasn’t astonishment.

When Mr. A. J. Crowley brought a large number of houseplants into the flat, that was hardly worth mentioning. When he began to verbally abuse said houseplants, that was still not exceedingly unusual.[9] When things that should not have been _quite_ possible according to the standard rules of reality began to happen inside the flat, that began to be a little bit interesting. And even the door could not deny experiencing some degree of surprise when its new tenant turned into a snake, or disappeared into a telephone, or alphabetically organized _and successfully kept organized_ an entire collection of books, CDs, and Soul Music.[10]

One of the first things Crowley did when he moved in — even before organizing the Soul Music, though not before harshly reprimanding a vaguely tired-appearing succulent — was to do some rather odd things to the door. Although the door did not quite understand what was being done,[11] it did get the clear impression that the _things_ [12] were meant to prevent it from opening up to unwanted visitors.

This was, of course, a serious affront to the door’s honor, and the door couldn’t help but wonder if the new tenant had even _noticed_ its scar.[13] On careful consideration, however, it decided it was willing to magnanimously set aside the offense. If there had been anyone else present to appreciate the door’s forbearance,[14] that very decision would have told them something impressive about the strength of the door’s feelings towards the new resident. The door found it _liked_ Crowley — a novel, slightly unsettling, and distinctly enjoyable sensation.

For Crowley, the door would have willingly discovered itself to be unlocked, had the circumstance and necessity arisen. Not that Crowley seemed likely to ever be in need of such assistance. He certainly did leave his keys in the flat on more than one occasion, but when that happened and he arrived home, somehow it always turned out that he _had_ conveniently forgotten to lock the door that morning.[15] The door was fairly sure it had not done that on purpose.

But at any rate, the door felt that, for the first time in forever, its flat had a resident who was worthy (albeit also sometimes incredibly annoying[16]). It was, on the whole, a very nice[17] feeling.

~ ~ ~

Time passed. Superficially, the door’s life[18] remained much the same. It guarded, it opened, it closed, it locked, it unlocked, it did its doorish duty.

On a much deeper level, however, the door’s life[19] was anything _but_ the same. Executing its duty was no longer a mere chore, to be accomplished with due diligence and vigilance but nothing loftier. No — at long last, the spice, the joy, the _passion_ that had been missing from life[20] was there. If it had been any of its business, the door might have expressed a confidential wish that Crowley would actually _live_ in the flat, not just come home to it at the end of the day. Still, if doors could be said to be happy,[21] this door was happy.

**Footnotes**

1No, not _that_ Beginning. It took a few thousand years for humanity to stoop low enough to start building flat complexes. Eating an apple is one thing. A flat in Mayfair, London is quite another.[return to text]

2Well, almost. That was still a bit of a sore spot. The building had originally been built with a different door — some flimsy wooden contraption. When the landlords learned that real wood was old-fashioned, however, they immediately saw the error of their ways and set about installing a superior replacement. The new, double-glazed, fiberglass door had been there _basically_ since the beginning. Before any tenants moved in, anyway, and that was really all that counted when push came to shove.[return to text]

3Usually, that is. Even the most dutiful of doors needs a bit of fun now and again, and some residents were really _quite_ disrespectful.[return to text]

4It even had a scar to show for one of these adventures: a slight dent, to the upper right of the doorknob, courtesy of a crowbar in the hand of one of the most ambitious (and stupid) of the lot. An inspector noticed the dent, once the security guards had removed the burglars, the flat complex management representatives had apologized profusely to the renters for the inconvenience, and the renters had threatened to sue while storming off the premises (after carefully packing all of their belongings, with the noteworthy exceptions of a drawerful of chewing gum and a significant amount of grime in the bathroom). Since repairing double-glazed fiberglass cost money, management decided to keep the dent and used it as a selling point to underscore the charmingly quaint modernity of the flat. Evidently, it worked, because they never did decide to call out the repair company. Though initially annoyed by the lack of maintenance, privately the door had come to be rather proud to bear this badge of its strength and courage.[return to text]

5Except for that one American attorney who had a habit of kicking doors open and closed whenever he’d had a bad day at work — which was usually every day. Fortunately, that attorney moved out of the flat within a couple of months. His decision may or may not have had something to do with frustration at the tendency of the flat’s door hinges to creak at exactly the wrong times and the latch to stick at all times, despite repeated assurances by well-credentialed door technicians that there was nothing whatsoever wrong with the door, and that in fact there was no reason to call a commercial door technician about a rusty hinge even if it was rusty, which anyone could see it obviously wasn’t. (Thank you for your support, please sign the bill here, would you like to add a tip, have a nice and accurate day.)[return to text]

6This happened, on average, once every forty-seven days, although the frequency varied widely among tenants, ranging from never to at least twice daily. Had amusement not been beneath its dignity, the door might have found such proceedings absolutely hilarious. Possibly, it did. But it was beneath the door’s dignity to say so.[return to text]

7Their perceptions of the world not being subject to human limitations such as eyes, doors are not constrained by such mundane impediments as sunglasses. Besides, Crowley took his glasses off when he was at home.[return to text]

8To clarify, some of it was very unique. Just not unique _enough_. This was, after all, the front door to a flat in Mayfair, London. In case, you forgot, that is not a job for the weak, foolish, or easily astonished.[return to text]

9Remember, many of the flat’s previous tenants were the kind of people lesser beings might have considered peculiar.[return to text]

10It was that last observation that really sold it, though the others provided supporting evidence: This tenant was not only unique, he was unique _enough_ to catch the door’s attention.[return to text]

11The door found said lack of understanding immensely aggravating, though it would never have admitted it. The door was not used to not understanding things that it wanted to understand — particularly when those things related in any way to itself.[return to text]

12Later, Crowley would variably refer to them as wards, mousetraps, or a lot of colorful language. Whatever they were, to its ongoing chagrin, the door was never able to convince Crowley that they were utterly unnecessary, not to mention somewhat offensive.[return to text]

13As it happened, he had, and he would have noticed it on his own anyway, even if the tour guide hadn’t made sure to point it out on the tour that Crowley hadn’t actually realized he was signing up for when he came to rent out the flat. Crowley liked the dent, mostly because he thought Aziraphale would appreciate the oxymoronic nature of the phrase “charmingly quaint modernity”.[return to text]

14Actually, there was. The floor very much appreciated and admired the door’s forbearance, and it also had a massive unrequited crush on the door, but the door never noticed, and even if it had, it would have thought the floor was beneath it. (Technically speaking, it was, but that’s beside the point.) It was all very sad. Luckily, the floor eventually fell in love with the ceiling instead, and the ceiling _did_ reciprocate those feelings despite the height differential, so they carried on a long-distance relationship and lived happily ever after (except for when Crowley spilled coffee, but at least he cleaned up after himself).[return to text]

15Or afternoon, or night, or Too Late, or whatever it was. The door quickly learned not to try to keep track of the time zones Crowley operated in.[return to text]

16On top of the _things_ he did to the door when he moved in, and his regular upkeep and reinforcement of said _things_ , Crowley didn’t hesitate to kick whatever was at hand or foot, up to and including doors, when he was in a bad mood — and especially in those early days, Crowley was very often in a bad mood. Somehow, though, it wasn’t nearly as bothersome as when the attorney did it.[return to text]

17And accurate.[return to text]

18What is life? Whatever it may be, can slabs of fiberglass, even the double-glazed variety, be nicely and accurately described as being in possession of it? This is an intriguing philosophical question, and it is also entirely irrelevant for our purposes. Some animist thinkers have written interesting papers on similar subjects. Again, however, that’s completely beside the point. It’s just a figure of speech, okay?[return to text]

19Look, I already told you it’s a figure of speech.[return to text]

20… never mind, I won’t even say anything.[return to text]

21Spoiler: I’m about to say it, so I suppose that settles the question. Doors can be said to be happy.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you've met the door, if you're inclined to read on to chapter two, get ready for drama. Sit back and enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something decidedly disagreeable about being a pile of rubble.
> 
> Nonetheless, needs must when doorish duty calls, and when a thermos flask of holy water is being balanced on an unreliable office door...

The door had staved off more than a few burglars in its time, and it had the scar to prove it. It was really quite remarkable how many upstart burglars thought it was a good idea to try to burgle a flat complex in one of the most expensive districts in the world.[22]

This particular pair of burglars, however, was… different. The door couldn’t quite put its finger on it.[23] But something was wrong.

The burglars, if that was what they were, had already broken in the main door downstairs, with a crash that shook the building, set every interior door on high alert, and sent all the tenants under their beds and/or calling 999.[24] Except for one tenant, that was. Crowley walked about the flat doing things with a bucket, the _Mona Lisa_ cartoon, and a safe with a combination lock, exuding an air of forced calmness that might have fooled the average observer,[25] but most definitely didn’t fool Crowley’s door.

The door wasn’t sure what Crowley was doing, but that didn’t matter. It knew what _it_ had to do. The door braced itself to execute its doorish duty, as it had done many times before. It felt the wards/mousetraps/colorful language _things_ bracing to do the same, and the door didn’t even bother being annoyed.

… and, before it could even creak out a warning, there was a pile of fiberglass rubble (the double-glazed kind) on the floor by the entrance to Crowley’s apartment. The wards/mousetraps/colorful language _things_ exerted themselves, then, a fraction of a second later, did their own equivalent of turning into a pile of rubble. Given the circumstances, the door felt not even the slightest flicker of satisfaction over this failure on the part of the _things_.

Not being in possession of nerve endings, doors do not experience pain, at least not in the way of biological organisms.[26] Nevertheless, there is something decidedly disagreeable about being a pile of rubble. Among other things, it makes it very difficult to focus. Still, the former door was vaguely aware of two intruders stepping right over — in point of fact, right _on_ — its pieces and passing the threshold.

Something about the intruders would have been oddly reminiscent of Crowley, except that they were nothing at all like Crowley. It was all too much for a pile of fiberglass rubble that had once been a door to think about. If doors (or former doors) could pass out from shock and strain, this one would have.

Still, being a front door came with certain responsibilities, and even when a door had utterly and humiliatingly failed at executing that responsibility which came first and foremost[27] according to the Code of Doorish Duty,[28] other responsibilities still remained. These lesser responsibilities included monitoring everything that happened within the dwelling, and keeping tabs on the inferior, interior doors. With an effort, the former door mustered its fragmented consciousness and brought it to bear on what was happening within the flat.

It tuned in just in time to find Crowley carrying a plant mister, a bucket, a pair of tongs, a lot of forcibly relaxed anxiety, and a thermos flask. He entered his office and began to do something involving the tongs, the flask, the bucket, and… the door.

The office door.

The _office_ door! Of all the doors in the flat that he could have enlisted for backup, why did Crowley have to choose _that_ door? The former front door could have cried, except that, if doors could cry, by this point it would have already dissolved into a hopeless puddle of tears.[29] The office door was without doubt the least reliable door in the flat when it came to a crisis.[30] Often, it needed the support of a firm hand from its leader (the front door), but at the moment its leader was not exactly in the best of conditions for providing firm hands.[31]

Crowley was balancing the bucket on top of the office door, which was open about six inches wide. Slowly, carefully, Crowley began to remove his hands…

Sensing a crisis, the office door was already beginning to tremble. Not enough to be perceived by any tenant — even a demon with impressive perceptive abilities — but more than enough for a fellow door[32] to sense. And more than enough to dislodge a carefully-balanced bucket, with potentially deadly consequences.

Needs must when doorish duty calls. With one last, truly gargantuan effort, the former front door mustered _all_ its fragmented consciousness and brought it to bear on the office door, exerting the firmest metaphorical hand it could. _Steady, steady…_

The first of the two intruders reached the office, pushed open the door, and the bucket fell. The pile of rubble that had once been a front door had just enough time to hope that Crowley’s ploy and its own assistance had been enough to do the trick.

Then, it discovered that perhaps doors (or, at least, piles of rubble that had once been doors) were capable of passing out after all, if the shock and strain were enough.

**Footnotes**

22If only they had known better, they would instead have attempted to burgle a certain Soho bookshop, where they would have been smote with a good talking-to and baked goods. It would have been much more enjoyable for everyone concerned, with the exception of the door to the Mayfair flat. Alas for their own good, burglars tended to not know better.[return to text]

23This was possibly, though almost certainly not, related to the fact that doors do not have fingers, though it did have a very fine doorknob. There is an unfortunate shortage of metaphors designed to apply to double-glazed fiberglass doors… or really, to any doors. It’s a real shame.[return to text]

24By the time any emergency responders arrived, it was far too late. This was definitely for the best; they could only hope that it was not also Too Late.[return to text]

25Likely not, but they _might_ have. A lot would have depended on how much sleep the average observer had gotten the night before, and also on whether they had any idea that the world was about to end. The average observer would probably have gotten very little sleep, given what had been on the news lately, but would also probably be unaware of the impending Armageddon. So, it was a toss-up.[return to text]

26Whatever animists or non-animists may say about doors’ claim to life, I trust we can all agree that doors are most assuredly not biological organisms. By and large, doors are far superior. Especially doors made of double-glazed fiberglass.[return to text]

27Guarding the dwelling, and also maintaining a rectangular shape. (Or an arched shape, or a round shape, or a hexagonal shape, or whatever proper shape any given door was intended to maintain. The main point was to avoid becoming a pile of rubble. On this point, Crowley’s door had just failed spectacularly.)[return to text]

28This Code does not exist in written form — doors don’t read, anyway, so that wouldn’t be any use — but it is ingrained deep within the nonexistent soul of every door ever crafted, from Buckingham Palace to the lowliest of yurts.[return to text]

29It was for the best that doors cannot cry, because being a pile of rubble and a puddle of tears at the same time would be too much for anyone.[return to text]

30Worse even than the bathroom door, and that should tell you something. Bathroom doors are notoriously unreliable.[return to text]

31I know, I know, if doors don’t have fingers they also don’t have hands. We already talked about metaphors and figures of speech, right?[return to text]

32Or even a former fellow door, that was now a pile of double-glazed fiberglass rubble.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself for chapter three, in which we will continue to discover just how angsty a double-glazed fiberglass door is capable of being. Spoiler: Pretty darn angsty.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a good thing doors are not capable of having hysterics, because if they were, the door would most definitely be having hysterics, and Crowley is really not in the mood to deal with a hysterical door.

The pile of rubble came to some while later,[33] rather suddenly, as if something had jolted it out of a coma.[34] For a brief moment, it wondered why it was a pile of rubble, then it started to remember why… and then, quite unexpectedly, it was _not_ a pile of rubble.

If being a pile of rubble was unpleasant, being thrown abruptly back into door form was not the most comfortable sensation either. It was well worth it to be a door again, however. Something about the smooth, perfect shape of its figure still felt slightly off, but the door flexed its fiberglass with pleasure. It was nice[35] to have a solid body.

At that point, the door’s somewhat muddled thinking[36] became aware of its environment. More specifically, it became aware of a specific piece of its environment. More specifically, it became aware of Crowley, who was standing just inside the flat surveying his front door. “Some protection you are,” he commented. “But there, that’s more like it.”

Crowley looked and sounded tired, perhaps unusually pale and quiet, but more or less like himself. The door’s first reaction was relief at its tenant’s apparent wholeness and wellness, remembering the circumstances under which it had last seen him. Then, Crowley’s words sank in and the details of those circumstances began to come into focus.

Oh.

Oh, _no_.

The door remembered everything — the intruders, the fight,[37] the failure, the _shame_.

If doors were capable of wailing, this door would have wailed. If doors had clothes to tear and sackcloth and ashes to wear, this door would have done it all. If slabs of double-glazed fiberglass were capable of curling into balls of misery, this slab of double-glazed fiberglass would have curled into a ball of misery.

Doors were _not_ capable of any of the above. But Crowley had known his front door for a good long while now. And, as both humans and demons went, he was quite perceptive.[38]

Crowley frowned at the door. “What’s the matter with you?”

Dismally, the door said nothing.

“I _said,_ what’s wrong?”

It was a good thing doors were not capable of having hysterics, because if they were, the door would most definitely have been having hysterics, and Crowley was really not in the mood to deal with a hysterical door. _Nothing_ , _nothing’s the matter, nothing at all,_ no _thing’s wrong, I just became a pile of rubble, I just failed in my doorish duty to protect, I just LET YOU DOWN, THAT’S ALL._

Despite its inner howling, the door still said nothing, but Crowley was _really_ quite perceptive. He stared at the door for a long moment, shook his head very slowly, and then rolled his snake eyes, expression dripping all the somehow-affectionate derision and disbelief that any demon could muster.[39]

“Look, you stupid slab of fiberglass, those were dem— those were not the kind of intruders you’re _supposed_ to be able to fend off. They could literally walk right through doors,[40] if they didn’t find blasting things to smithereens more gratifying. It’s not your fault.”

The door still said nothing, but its metaphorical ball of misery might have begun to relax just a little.

Crowley sighed. “Trust me, if for some reason a demon’s opinion matters to you, I don’t blame you for what happened. You may notice my own wards didn’t exactly hold up much longer. Something knows, _you_ should know better than to take my abuse seriously.”[41]

This was true. The door was definitely feeling better.

“Better? Good. Or evil, or whatever. Besides” — Crowley grinned, faintly demonically — “don’t worry, the answering machine and your colleague in my office came through. One way or another, it all worked out.”[42]

Something still seemed not quite right about its body,[43] but otherwise, the door was feeling virtually good as new.[44] “ _Colleague in the office”! Hah!_

Doors were used to their hard work going unthanked and unnoticed, and in this case, the front door decided there was no need to mention its essential intervention in the matter of the office door. Nonetheless, perhaps something of its amusement came across in an inadvertent creak, because Crowley gave the door a quizzical look, then shrugged and shook his head again.

“Never mind. Let’s set a date to figure out everything we did wrong, and how we can keep that kind of thing from happening again.[45] I reckon we can come up with some good ideas if we put our heads together. All right?”

That offer sounded very much all right, both useful and extremely interesting, not to mention an excuse to spend time with Crowley. The door creaked its enthusiastic agreement.

Crowley nodded, decisively, then rubbed his eyes and yawned, snakelike. “Not now, though. Maybe next week, or the week after. I need a nap.”

He made for his bedroom, then stopped, as if seized by a sudden thought, and glanced over his shoulder. There was a pop. Just above and to the right of the front doorknob, there was a dent, practically radiating an oxymoronic sense of charmingly quaint modernity.

Ahhh. The door relaxed the rest of the way. Now, _that_ felt just fine.

**Footnotes**

33The world had almost-but-not-actually ended during that while, but the former door had no way of knowing that.[return to text]

34Doors can definitely not go into comas; those are for biological organisms only. But if it wasn’t a coma, what was it? Anyway, all I said was it was _as if_ something had jolted it out of a coma, and it was.[return to text]

35And more or less accurate.[return to text]

36Never before having woken up even from a nap, let alone a coma, I think we can excuse the door’s thinking for being a little muddled at first, especially given all the other compounding factors at play.[return to text]

37If “fight” meant “being-blasted-to-rubble-without-even-getting-a-chance-to-defend-oneself”. It was not a fair fight, and it was really hardly a fight at all, but using the word helped the door preserve what few scraps of dignity it had left.[return to text]

38Though, at other times, supremely oblivious. It all depended.[return to text]

39For the record, that was rather a lot. Though most demons skipped the affection part. They often also skipped the disbelief, and sometimes even the derision, finding death and destruction just as effective and much less nuanced.[return to text]

40The door allowed itself some skepticism as to this point; being bested in battle was one (extremely humiliating) thing, but the idea of being walked _through_ was simply beyond the pale. Crowley was right, of course, but that’s not relevant.[return to text]

41Not that Crowley’s abuse was never genuine; sometimes it was very much in earnest, but the door knew, or should have known, how to tell the difference.[return to text]

42He added “for now. I hope” under his breath, but the door didn’t notice.[return to text]

43It didn’t feel like complaining, however.[return to text]

44Literally. If it came down to it, better than new. Crowley’s miracle glaze was much higher quality than the comparatively affordable kind the landlords had used when they originally installed the replacement front door.[return to text]

45He really, really hoped that nothing even remotely like Hastur and Ligur would ever happen in his flat again, but Crowley’s 6000 years of experience had taught him to know better than to trust to hope. Hope for the best, expect and prepare for the worst, and almost always it turned out you were right and you’d get a chance to make use of your preparation.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it this far with me! Next up, the final installment, in which Crowley sleeps for two months, and the door... well, you'll see what the door does.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring, 2020. Crowley, like any responsible resident, informs the front door of his intention to sleep until July, and tells the door that it is on no account to open up for anyone until Crowley wakes up and tells it to.
> 
> But when someone knocks on the door, it's not just anyone. And the door is not about to pass up a chance to get one up on Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes full circle, back to the coda scene in the excellent and inspirational work by [fractalgeometry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry) entitled [ Breaking And Entering Can Be Angelic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25033747?view_full_work=true). If you haven't already, I recommend reading that story; it's well worth your time.

Spring, 2020. Crowley was sleeping.

Before entering his state of hibernation, Crowley had, like any responsible resident,[46] informed the front door of his intention to sleep until July, checked and shored up the upgraded wards/mousetraps/colorful language _things_ that Crowley and the door had designed in collaboration, and, in no uncertain terms — albeit with a notable lack of paranoia, relatively speaking — told the door that it was on no account to open up for _anyone_ until Crowley woke up and told it to.

The door waited patiently and bore with admirable fortitude the lecture it didn’t need. Then Crowley went to bed, and the door settled down to keep guard.

~ ~ ~

A few weeks later, someone knocked on the door.

In and of itself, that was quite remarkable. Hardly anyone ever knocked on Crowley’s door, and if possible, even fewer did so now that the world was in quarantine. More remarkably still, the someone knocked again, and again.[47]

When the door did not immediately open, the source of the knocking seemed to give up on the traditional physical methods, and began instead attempting to tamper with the standard rules of reality in a way that somehow felt very familiar. None of that nonsense was going to affect the door, of course,[48] especially not with the upgraded _things_ in place.

The door inspected the knocker, wondering if it should sound an alarm. It hated to disturb Crowley’s sleep,[49] but he had said not to let anyone in, and if the situation was serious enough…

 _Oh_. Never mind. The knocker wasn’t _anyone_ , it was just the angel. That was okay. The angel had been to the flat before, and he was perfectly safe. The angel liked Crowley. More importantly, Crowley liked the angel.[50] The door was glad the angel had had the sense this time around to come by even without being officially invited — sometimes those two could drive a door up the wall[51] with the way they walked on eggshells around each other. It was perfect. The flat would be a little less dull, and Crowley would have company when he woke up. Plus, it was an opportunity to get one up on Crowley, and such opportunities were not commonly come by. The door wasn’t about to pass this one up.

The door apologized for the fuss and let Aziraphale in, carefully stretching and then resettling the _things_ back into place. No reason to mess with Crowley’s hard work.

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale’s presence in the flat when Crowley woke up was a success on every level. The door watched unobtrusively, with significant satisfaction.

When the pair headed out to visit the bookshop,[52] the door opened obligingly, allowing Crowley and his angel to pass through. Crowley waved the angel ahead, then paused and looked at the door.

“Some protection you are,” he murmured, but the door recognized those words, and was pretty sure Crowley’s heart wasn’t in it.[53] “Letting in whatever ethereal creatures come your way.”

The door made clear that it had no regrets whatsoever, Crowley knew very well that the door was the _best_ protection any tenant could ever ask for, and the door had followed Crowley’s instructions in the spirit, if not _exactly_ in the letter.[54]

Crowley tried again. “I don’t care if he was polite to you, I seem to remember leaving you _locked._ ”

If doors had eyes to roll, this door would have rolled its eyes, hard.[55] It recognized the tone of voice Crowley was using, heavy with malice of a sort designed to make even the bravest of plants rustle nervously. It worked on the plants, sure — even the rubber plants — but the door was made of tougher stuff.[56] It was not impressed.

Deliberately, the door creaked, imbuing the gesture with as much smugness as it possibly could.[57]

Crowley scowled. “You’re not as smart as you think you are.”

 _Hah._ When Crowley stooped to casting aspersions on its intellect, the door knew it had already won the argument.

“You just got lucky.”

 _Hah!_ As if.[58] The door didn’t even deign to honor that comment with a response.

“No more opening while I’m asleep, got it?”

If doors could talk, this one would have done a perfectly deadpan impression of some of the more diplomatically noncommittal politicians[59] who had lived in the flat in the past. _I’ll take your recommendation under advisement_.

From down the hall, the angel called something.

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley said distractedly. He addressed the door again. “I guarantee you that he would be just as upset as me if something untoward got into my apartment. Don’t you start getting complacent just because it worked out this time.”

This was beginning to become downright insulting; really, the door was quite miffed at the display of doubt in its sound judgment. Had it been anyone other than Crowley[60]…

But, since it was Crowley, the door just creaked again.

Crowley gave it one last death glare and sauntered off down the hall. He’d forgotten to lock his front door,[61] but the door took care of that for him.

**Footnotes**

46By these standards, the door had never before had a responsible resident. Actually, the landlords might have agreed with the door’s assessment, though for rather different reasons. At any rate, however, Crowley might not appreciate being described as a responsible resident, so only Aziraphale would ever dare call him one.[return to text]

47Andagainandagainandagainandagainandagain, in quick succession. Aziraphale might have been a tiny bit anxious.[return to text]

48Unless the door wanted to be affected, that is. Well, duh. That goes without saying.[return to text]

49Because it liked Crowley, but also because Crowley was really not good company when woken up in the wrong part of a sleep cycle.[return to text]

50The door liked Aziraphale too, but not as much as it liked Crowley, and not as much as Crowley and Aziraphale liked each other.[return to text]

51Not literally, of course. That would have been very, very weird. The door was a _door_ , not some kind of — perish the thought! — _window_.[return to text]

52The door still wasn’t certain what a bookshop was, but based on overheard conversations, it knew it was a place that had angels, baked goods, and something to do with prophecies. It sounded pretty good, despite the inevitable inferiority of its door.[return to text]

53Pretty sure, but not totally sure, because it never paid to be totally sure about anything where Crowley was concerned. If you ever thought you were totally sure, you were virtually guaranteed to find out that you were wrong, sometimes in a disagreeable way.[return to text]

54Besides, when it came to following instructions, Crowley was one to talk.[return to text]

55No pun intended, though double-glazed fiberglass is very hard, and the door was rather proud of that fact.[return to text]

56Double-glazed fiberglass, to be precise. Pun definitely intended.[return to text]

57Which was a lot, enough to compete with a demon’s capacity for disbelief and derision. Not that anyone except Crowley — and _maybe_ Aziraphale, but probably not, and of course also the floor and the ceiling, but those didn’t count — would have discerned anything other than a door creaking. That wasn’t really anyone’s fault, they just weren’t as cool as Crowley.[return to text]

58Well, yeah, it had gotten very lucky when Crowley moved in, but it was pretty sure that wasn’t what Crowley was talking about.[return to text]

59As opposed to the decidedly _un_ diplomatically noncommittal wannabe politicians, of which there were many more. All the politicians and wannabe politicians (and most other people, too) were noncommittal as a matter of policy, protocol, and self-defense. The diplomatic ones generally tended to get more votes, but there were certain exceptions to this rule, especially in America.[return to text]

60In case you’re wondering, had it been anyone other than Crowley, the door would have done nothing at all, because it wouldn’t have cared enough in the first place to get in an argument with any tenant other than Crowley. Nor would any tenant other than Crowley have cared enough to get in an argument with the door. Unless you counted kicks or commercial door technicians as a form of argument. The door did not; that was not argument, it was abuse (and not Crowley’s trademark style of affectionate not-actually-abuse, just plain old abusive abuse).[return to text]

61Possibly, sleeping for two months straight and then waking up to the sound of honking horns and geese and the unexpected discovery that the love of your 6000-year life is making tea in your flat can be slightly distracting, even for a demon.[return to text]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you found this story and followed it to the end, thank you for your time! I hope you enjoyed it — I know I had a blast in the writing. I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have.
> 
> Be well, and be nice to your door.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this, and I hope you have half as much fun reading it.
> 
> Needless to say, any and all comments will always be far more than welcome. :)


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